"We hoped this would stop my brother's course, but it did so only for a short time. He soon began gambling and drinking again; and, being young and rather delicate, it was not long until he was brought home in delirium tremens. Upon this father took his bed, languished, sank, and died, leaving myself and my brother alone in the world. O, how I wished I could die, too! But it seemed that God determined that I should see the end of my work in wrecking our family, and I was compelled to still remain, and reap the harvest of my own doings.
"Every influence that could be brought to bear on my poor brother I made use of, but to no avail; and, O, how I prayed for him! But it was of no use! He went even more rapidly down the way of ruin, now that father was dead and out of his way. Only a few weeks after I had followed my father to his resting-place in the silent grave, my brother was brought home with delirium tremens again, and, after suffering for a short time the most terrible agony, the poor boy died, and was laid in a drunkard's grave. O my God! why was I ever born? Why cannot I die, too? But what will my eternity be for having thus ruined my own brother, the bright and beautiful boy? This is why I spell my name Mara."
Soon after the lady commenced her sad story, the ladies in the company began weeping; and when it was finished, they were all sobbing as if their hearts would break; and the eyes of the men also were moist. The cards had disappeared, and vows were solemnly expressed by the entire company that never again would one of them be guilty of engaging in that sport, but that they would ever do their best to endeavor to put the practise out of society.—Selected.
Sowing to the Flesh
Are you sowing to the flesh, O youth?
Have you turned your back upon the truth?
Are you scattering seeds of evil
From the garner of the devil?
Are you thinking of the harvest
By and by?
Soon will spring and summer pass,
Brown and sere will grow the grass;
No time then for good seed-sowing:
You and I
Must gather what we've sown, forsooth.
Are you sowing to the flesh, O youth?
Are you sowing to the flesh, O maid?
Can you think of the harvest unafraid?
Is this world your only treasure?
This life all your joy and pleasure?
Are you laying up no portion
In the sky?
He that soweth to the wind
Shall a whirlwind's harvest find,
And he'll see himself a pauper
By and by.
We must reap of what we sow, it is said:
Are you sowing to the flesh, O maid?
ELIZABETH ROSSER.
"THE MAN THAT DIED FOR ME"
For many years I wanted to go as a foreign missionary, but my way seemed hedged about. At last I went to live in California. Life was rough in the mining country where I lived, with my husband and little boys.
While there I heard of a man who lived over the hills and was dying of consumption. The men said: "He is so vile that no one can stay with him; so we place some food near him, and leave him for twenty-four hours. We will find him dead sometime, and the sooner the better. Never had a relative, I guess."